Fragments of Truth
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: I've never claimed to know how her mind works. Irina Derevko is as much an enigma to me as she is to you or anyone else.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not my characters, alas.  
Timeline: For the sake of this story, let's assume season three and four didn't happen.

_There were times when the illusion of our marriage was as powerful for me as it was for you._

Irina slipped into the warehouse, moving through the shadows with the grace of a cat. She left the window open behind her and crouched on the ground as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A moment later, a figure dropped beside her with considerably less stealth than she had used. She turned to glare at her companion, not willing to risk a verbal reproval. Never mind, she thought, he would pay later.

Andre Bastien was a new employee, and this was the first time Irina was working alongside him. Now that they were in the field, she questioned the wisdom of her decision. He was, after all, barely twenty-one years old.

Yet she had been recruited at seventeen. She bit back a smile; maybe they didn't make spies the way they used to.

Irina could sense Andre's impatience and tried to ignore her own irritation. Maybe she was just getting too old for this.

Finally deciding it was safe enough to move; she stood and headed for the stairs. She didn't need to look behind her to know Andre was right on her heels, he was moving with all the grace of a herd of elephants.

Up the stairs, down the hall, third door on the left . . . Irina followed the blueprints in her mind. Soon she would have the manuscript and then—

She stopped.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Wait for me at the top of the stairs." Irina quickly picked the lock and entered the office. She unstrapped a knife from her leg and flicked the blade open. Carefully sliding the tip into the wallpaper, she cut it. She peeled the paper away and pried a cylinder from the plaster.

A gunshot sounded from downstairs.

Irina hurriedly stowed the manuscript in her backpack and went to see what was going on.

Andre stood at the foot of the stairs, a body at his feet. He looked up as Irina approached, and something about his posture made Irina hesitate. He turned to face her fully, and she knew even before he raised his hand to shoot her that he had betrayed her. She threw the knife, accurate even in the semi-dark, and heard the sound of it reaching its target. Andre fired even as he dropped to the ground, but his aim was off and the bullet merely grazed her arm.

She ran down the stairs and pulled the knife from Andre's chest. "Who are you working for?"

He opened his mouth, pink foam bubbling out, and Irina knew he was as good as dead.

"Irina?"

Caught off-guard, she looked to the person Andre had shot. Pressing her lips together, she slit Andre's throat, a more merciful death than he deserved, but she needed to ensure he wasn't a threat. Then she crossed to her husband's side.

Jack was in bad shape; the bullet had hit him in his abdomen, and he was struggling to breathe. Irina felt his pulse, relieved it was still fairly strong. If Andre wasn't already dead, she would gladly kill him again. Irina had only two rules for those she employed: never betray her, and never hurt Jack and Sydney.

"Where's your backup?"

He closed his eyes. "Came alone."

"Idiot."

"Suspected trap."

"You're still an idiot." She doubted Jack had come without backup, but she wasn't willing to risk leaving him to bleed to death. Keeping pressure on the wound with one hand, she unzipped her backpack and dug for her cell phone with the other.

"Irina." He was looking at her, and she wasn't sure if his frown was one of pain or confusion. She wanted to tell him she wasn't going to kill him, but didn't think he'd believe her.

Smiling – in a way she hadn't smiled since she called herself Laura – she leaned down and kissed his forehead. "What would you do without me, Jack?"

* * *

_Jack bunched the bed sheets in his fists, determined not to give in to the temptation to scratch. Watching him from the doorway, Laura smiled. _

_"It's not funny," he said._

_"Yes, Mommy, it's not funny." Sydney leaned against Laura's legs. "Pick me up."_

_"But you're full of spots."_

_Sydney put her hands on her hips. "Daddy's all spotty too, but I saw you kissing."_

_Laura's smile widened, and she bent forward and picked up her daughter._

_"How come you don't have chicken spots, Mommy?"_

_"Chicken pox, sweetheart. And I had it when I was your age."_

_"Daddy has it too."_

_Laura looked at Jack, who was still fighting the urge to scratch. He threw a pillow across the room but she stepped aside in time to avoid being hit. Sydney continued chattering, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world for her parents to throw pillows at each other. Which it was. Of course, Sydney was never privy to what went on after the pillows (or whatever else was on hand) outlived their usefulness._

_"Kelly Thomas told me she saw her mommy and daddy kissing and she said it was gross. I told her my mommy and daddy kissed all the time, and it couldn't be gross, 'cause then you wouldn't smile all the time. Am I right, Mommy? Besides, you kiss me too, and that's 'cause you love me." Sydney leaned her head on Laura's shoulder. "I love you, Mommy."_

_Jack looked as if he were ready to throw another pillow. Stifling her laugh, Laura approached the bed._

_"I love you too, sweetheart. But how about if we show Daddy we love him? I think he's feeling left out."_

_Sydney practically leapt out of her mother's arms. "I'm sorry I made you all spotty, Daddy. But Mommy can make you better, right, Mommy?"_

_Jack raised his eyebrows and looked up at Laura._

_"Take off your shirt, Jack."_

_"Are you forgetting our daughter is still in the room?"_

_Laura shook her head; this time allowing her laugh to escape. "I'm not planning on scratching _that_ itch. Yet."_

_She picked up an unopened bottle of chamomile lotion from the bedside table and clicked her tongue. "Jack, I told you this would help."_

_"Nothing will help."_

_"Daddy's being a grump, Syd. Should we still try and help him?"_

_Sydney giggled. "Can I put the camel lotion on him?"_

_"He doesn't think it will work."_

_Sydney's expression turned solemn. She looked at her father and said, her tone serious, "Daddy, listen to Mommy. The camel lotion made me better."_

_Jack sighed. "Well, if _you_ think it will work . . ."_

_Sydney moved aside to make room for Laura to sit and cupped her hands for the lotion. Then, together, they took care of the man they loved more than anything else in the world._


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Just to clarify, the last part of The Telling never happened. No waking up in Hong Kong, no missing years.

_Irina: My love for you, for your father, was not a contrivance._

The worst part about waking up in hospital, Jack thought, was that horrible moment between consciousness and darkness. When it was unclear what had happened, and his mind frantically tried to recall something, anything. Once he realized where he was, came the inevitable cataloguing: arms and legs functional, yes; where does it hurt this time, ah, stomach; throat hurts, chest tube; heart monitor, IV, catheter . . . damn.

"Ah, Mr. Bristow, you're awake."

Jack studied the nurse as she flipped through his chart. Noticing his gaze, she glanced up and beamed a smile at him. She looked far too young to be working—

French. She'd spoken French. What the hell was he doing in France?

He reached to pull the tube from his throat. The nurse was at his side in an instant. It alarmed him how weak he was; it took very little effort for her to stop him.

"Calm down. I'll get that out in a minute."

Jack saw no reason to fight her. It didn't seem as if he would be able to go anywhere anyway. He kept his eyes on her as she moved around the room and mentally compiled a list of questions.

"I'm going to need you to cough."

Jack gave a slight nod; he'd done this before, though there was no way she could possibly know that. She counted to three, he coughed and she pulled out the tube.

"What--?" His throat was scratchy. She picked up a cup and slipped an ice chip into his mouth.

"You were brought in with a gunshot wound, Mr. Bristow. To be honest, I'm surprised you made it through the surgery." Her tone was matter-of-fact. She slipped another ice chip in his mouth. "Do you remember what happened?"

He managed a raspy, "No."

She shrugged. "I don't suppose it matters. The woman who came with you spoke to the police."

He raised an eyebrow.

"She seemed quite worried. Somehow she talked her way into watching the surgery. As soon as the police took her statement, I mean. But once she got in, she didn't move. Someone brought her a cup of coffee; I don't even think she noticed."

Jack made a scribbling motion with his hand. The nurse put down the cup and took a notepad and pen from the bedside drawer. She handed it to Jack, then sat down.

_What was her name?_ Jack wrote.

She frowned. "Umm, Lara? No, Laura."

Jack's hand stilled. _Laura?_

"Yes."

_Is she still here?_

"No. As soon as you were out of surgery, she left. We – the other nurses, I mean – we were surprised. She'd been so worried, and then to just disappear like that."

Of course, Jack thought. Disappearing was what Irina was good at.

"Do you know her?"

He closed his eyes, and shook his head.

* * *

_Laura sat rigid, her hand tightly clasping Jack's. He rubbed his thumb across her skin, unsure why she was in such a strange mood. She looked at him and smiled, but it lacked warmth._

_In the front of the church, someone stepped up to eulogize Jack's fallen comrade. As the person spoke, Laura's grip tightened. Jack turned to observe her; her gaze was now fixed on the woman sitting in the front pew, a golden-haired child on her lap. Jack didn't recognize the expression in Laura's eyes. Worried, he tapped his finger on her hand. _

_Once, after too much wine, Laura had wistfully remarked how exciting the life of a spy must be. He'd taught her Morse code, and it became a game. At dinner parties they tapped out messages to one another, enjoying the secrecy, or when they couldn't say anything in front of Sydney. Jack didn't think they'd ever use it at a funeral._

_WHAT'S WRONG?_

_She shook her head slightly, tapping NOT NOW._

_LAURA._

_PLEASE._

_Finally, the service was over and Jack and Laura were in the car on their way home._

_"Are you ready to talk to me yet?"_

_Laura reached for the radio. Jack turned it off almost immediately. Laura shifted in her seat so she was facing him fully, and he was surprised that whatever she had been feeling earlier had been replaced with anger._

_Well, good. He could deal with anger. He pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car._

_"Go to hell, Jack."_

_"One day, probably." He kept his tone calm, even as he wanted to pull his wife into his arms._

_"We didn't even know those people. Why did we have to attend his funeral?"_

_"He worked with me—"_

_"You weren't friends, Jack."_

_"I— His wife—" He wasn't prepared for this. Jack didn't know why he'd felt compelled to attend the funeral, or why he'd insisted Laura go with him._

_"His wife isn't going to care who was there. And all I could think was how easily that could be me and Sydney sitting in the front pew one day."_

_Jack felt ill and had to force himself to draw breath. "Laura, sweetheart—"_

_"Don't 'sweetheart' me. Every time you go on a mission I wonder if you'll come back. Every time—" She trailed off and sank back into her seat. Jack could only look at her; her cheeks were streaked with mascara and her eyes were red, and she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen._

_And she was hurting._

_He reached for her. "Laura, we're going to grow old together. I promise."_

_"Damn it, Jack, you can't make that promise." But she didn't pull away._

_"I just did."_

_Laura sighed, and then she tilted her head and kissed him._


	3. Chapter 3

_Irina: Don't pretend I'm something I'm not. (2:15, A Free Agent)_

For as long as he could remember, Jack had hated hospitals. There was nothing to do except lie in bed and think, and there were some things Jack did not want to think about. And, of course, hospitals were a reminder of the weakness of the human body.

A reminder that he was getting old. One of the things he tried to avoid thinking about. At least the throat tube had been taken out, he thought.

His nurse entered – Michelle, he'd since learned. She was carrying an arrangement of wild flowers, and Jack felt a sudden, unwelcome ache in his chest. Laura had loved wild flowers.

Michelle gave him the card and left the room. Good, he thought. She was learning.

He opened the envelope. It wasn't a card, but a folded piece of paper. The message was short: _I'm glad you're okay._ There was no signature, but he recognized the handwriting.

He wondered; did this mean that part of his wife hadn't been a lie? Or was this simply part of a new game she was playing? Somehow, he couldn't reconcile the Irina in his mind's eye as a lover of wild flowers.

_I'm glad you're okay_. What the hell was that supposed to mean anyway?

He hated that this woman was still capable of turning him inside out after all these years, hated that he was stuck in this hospital bed and forced to think about her—

"Dad?"

He closed his fist around the note and looked to the door. Sydney stood there, wearing black leather and sporting spiky blue hair, and he smiled for the first time since he'd woken up.

"Do I even want to know what you've been up to?"

Sydney crossed the room, then stopped at the side of the bed and awkwardly reached for his hand. "I was in Germany when I heard – I couldn't think straight – They said you were critical – I got here as soon as I could – Dad, what happened?"

"I was shot."

Sydney looked around the room, not focusing on anything, her gaze finally coming to rest on Jack. "Were you on a mission?"

"Not exactly."

Sydney's features hardened. "What happened?"

Jack sighed.

Sydney looked around the room again, this time catching sight of the flower arrangement. She swung her head back, her eyes narrowed. "Did Mom do this to you?"

"I don't remember." He felt the piece of paper in his hand. _I'm glad you're okay_. The words could mean anything. He repeated, "I don't remember."

"We'll catch her one of these days."

And Jack studied his daughter, black leather and blue hair, and wondered what had happened to his little girl.

* * *

_When Jack turned off the water, he heard giggling from the bedroom. Curious, he stepped out the shower and, wrapping a towel around his waist, went to investigate. _

_Laura sat in the middle of the bed, Sydney between her legs. Laura was attempting to braid Sydney's hair, no easy task when it came to Sydney's inability to sit still for longer than five minutes at a time._

_"It's my turn now," Sydney insisted, wriggling around until she faced her mother. "I wanna brush your hair."_

_"Sweetheart, I'm not done yet."_

_Sydney pouted and turned to Jack. "Daddy?"_

_He laughed and slowly crossed the room to his girls. "Sweetheart."_

_"Mommy won't let me brush her hair." Sydney shot an accusatory look in Laura's direction._

_"What if I let you brush my hair while Mommy finished yours?"_

_Sydney wrinkled her nose. "You got short hair. An' it's not soft like Mommy's."_

_Jack had to concede – Laura had amazing hair. "Well, would you let me braid your hair while you brush Mommy's?"_

_Sydney looked at Laura, her eyes wide, and whispered, "Can daddies do braids?"_

_Laura laughed and handed Jack the brush she'd been using. "We're about to find out."_

_Sydney picked up Laura's brush and started pulling it through Laura's hair. Jack stared at the brush he held, then glanced at Laura. She smiled. Jack shrugged and moved around the bed._

_He hadn't realized Sydney's hair was so fine. No sooner had he twisted it into a braid, when it started to come undone. His fingers felt think and clumsy and he envied Laura's ability to do this effortlessly every day._

_When Sydney grew bored of the activity, she hopped off the bed and went to her room, something resembling a braid swinging across her back. Jack turned his attention to Laura's hair._

_"I'm not sure I can fix this," he said, solemnly, "we might have to shave it all and start from scratch."_

_Laura tilted her head, pretending to consider it. "I think the best option would be to wash my hair. The conditioner will get the knots out."_

_He tried to hide his smile. "I've just had a shower."_

_"You can never be too clean."_

_"Sydney—"_

_"Ten minutes, Jack. She can keep herself busy for ten minutes."_

_Jack scooped Laura off the bed and carried her to the bathroom._

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_Irina: You know, technically, we may still be husband and wife. (2:10 The Abduction)_

Jack told himself it didn't matter that no one was there to pick him up from the airport. It had been a long flight from France, and he was grumpy and in pain, and he really didn't want anybody seeing him in this weakened state.

But still. One friendly face – Sydney's, hell, even Vaughn's – would have been nice.

He took a taxi home, and spent the trip trying to remember what had happened the night he was shot. As always, the memory remained elusive, but for the certainty that Irina had been there. As the taxi pulled up outside his house, he realized it was entirely possible he had dreamed her presence, but he didn't want to consider the implications of that. The last thing he needed was to spend all his time thinking about her.

He unlocked the door, looking forward to taking his painkillers and sleeping for the next day or so. As he stepped inside, he heard, "Surprise!"

Jack stared at the three people standing in the living room. Vaughn and Weiss were on either side of Sydney. Of the three, they looked slightly uncomfortable. Sydney, on the other hand, was grinning from ear to ear. She stepped forward to hug her father.

"I bet you thought I'd forgotten you were arriving today." She kissed his cheek. "Gotcha."

He didn't know how to react. Sydney took his hand and led him to the couch.

"You must be exhausted, Dad."

Vaughn and Weiss, feeling very out of place in Jack's house, quietly excused themselves. When they were gone, Jack leaned against the back of the couch, confirming Sydney's observation. As tired as he was, he didn't miss the flash of concern in her eyes and her refusal to look away from him.

She bit her lower lip when she was worried. Her mother had done that too.

Dammit, Jack told himself, you do not need this right now.

"When they said you'd been injured in the field, I thought you were dead. And every day since then all I can think about is how easily I could have lost you." She broke her gaze, then tentatively reached for his hand. "I love you, Dad. I just need you to know that."

"Sydney—" He swallowed; after so many years, the words were surprisingly difficult to say. "I love you too."

She smiled, and he had never seen anything more beautiful.

Kendall, displaying his ever impeccable timing, chose that moment to phone Jack. Sydney rolled her eyes as she answered, then handed the phone to her father.

"Welcome back, Jack. How are you feeling?"

"Wonderful," Jack answered truthfully, and smiled at his daughter.

"Right. Well, I was wondering if you'd given any thought to my proposal."

Before he'd been released from hospital, Kendall had told him it was highly unlikely he would be cleared for field work again. Before Jack was able to respond, Kendall had continued, saying, "I'd like you to head up a task force to capture Derevko."

Now, sensing Jack's hesitance, Kendall tried again, "It would be a great loss to the agency if you left now. And we do need to apprehend Derevko. Considering your knowledge of how her mind works—"

A twinge of pain in his chest reminded Jack he needed his medication. He cut Kendall off. "I've never claimed to know how her mind works. Irina Derevko is as much an enigma to me as she is to you or to anyone else."

He saw Sydney's expression harden, and squeezed her hand. This time when she smiled, it didn't reach her eyes.

Kendall sighed into the phone. "Just think about it, Jack."

_Laura was curled up on the couch when Jack arrived back from the office. The room was dark but for one reading lamp. He stood in the doorway and watched her for a while. She was completely engrossed in a book, and frowning at whatever she was reading._

_Jack smiled then coughed to clear his throat. Laura didn't look up._

_He slowly started to move towards her. The slight smile playing on her lips gave her away, but she still refused to look at him. He sat behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder._

_"You're going to go blind."_

_"What?"_

_"Bad lighting, small print. You should wear your glasses."_

_"Yes, Mom."_

_He kissed her neck. "What are you reading?"_

_"Anna Karenina."_

_"Again?" He plucked the book from her hands. Folding the corner of the page to mark her place, he closed it. "I'll tell you how it ends; you can stop reading."_

_She took the book back, put a bookmark in to mark the page, and unfolded the corner Jack had folded. "Savage."_

_"What?"_

_"Don't destroy my book."_

_"I wasn't—"_

_She sighed suddenly, and leaned into Jack._

_"What's wrong?"_

_"Nothing."_

_"Laura, sweetheart . . ."_

_"I'm pregnant." She stood, putting distance between them._

_"Pregnant? A baby?"_

_She nodded, and he thought he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes, but the light was so dim he couldn't be sure._

_"Laura, honey, that's wonderful." He stood and pulled her into his arms. "We're having a baby!"_

_"What if we're terrible parents? Jack, I don't know anything about being a mother. Are we ready for this?"_

_Jack tightened his embrace. "We can do anything together."_


	5. Chapter 5

_Memory is a selection of images; some elusive, others printed indelibly on the brain. (Eve, "Eve's Bayou")_

_Jack: Technically, we are still married. (2:10, The Abduction)_

Kendall phoned every day for a week, his question the same: have you given any thought to the task force?

When the phone rang this time, Jack glared at it as if that would shut it up. He wasn't in the mood to talk to Kendall today, and let the answering machine pick up. Sure enough, it was Kendall.

Jack left the room, heading for the front door. He needed fresh air and a clear head; of course he'd thought about the task force. He thought about it – and _her_ – all the time. He knew, logically, that he should agree. Irina Derevko couldn't be left to run around doing, well, whatever it was she did, and generally causing havoc. Logically, Jack knew the chances of apprehending her would increase if he joined the task force.

But he wouldn't be out in the field, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to stay in the office for the rest of his career at the CIA.

And, if he were honest with himself, there was enough of the man he once was – a man who could remember holding Laura's hand and what it felt like to kiss her – to wonder if some part of Laura still existed.

Despite everything, he still cared about his wife, and he was torn being hating that feeling and fearing it. (Of course, he refused to analyze the depth of his feelings. He wasn't that much of a masochist.)

Later, he told himself it was thinking of Laura – Irina – that did it. There hadn't been mail sent to his home in years, but in a lifetime where he and Laura and Sydney had been a family, it had been his morning ritual to check. Sydney, acting so grown up at the tender of five, had loved to leave pictures in the mailbox for Jack to take to work.

He didn't find any of Sydney's pictures inside when he checked today, but there was a postcard. A tropical paradise on the front, blue sea, white sand and palm trees. On the back, in handwriting he would have recognized anywhere: _All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way._

He imagined Irina writing it; the corners of her mouth lifted in a half-smile, her head tilted slightly to one side, her hair falling across her face. Or perhaps her hair was up, baring her neck—

_Stop it_, he told himself. _You do not need this._

He'd come outside to take his mind off her, but she followed him everywhere.

_All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way._

He studied the phrase again, wondering why it sounded so familiar. And he wondered what the hell Irina was doing.

He slipped the postcard into his pocket, and returned inside the house, whatever desire he'd had to go for a walk had vanished.

* * *

_They were sprawled on a checkered-blanket, Laura's head resting on Jack's stomach, both lazy after the picnic meal. Jack, his hand tangled in Laura's hair, knew suddenly that he was going to ask her to marry him._

_"I want to be like that one day," Laura said._

_"Like what?"_

_She gestured across the park to an elderly couple strolling hand-in-hand along the path. "Like them."_

_"You want to be old?"_

_She rolled onto her side and looked at him. "No. I want—"_

_"I know." He smiled. "Me too."_

_There was sadness in her eyes he didn't understand, but he didn't push her. "It must be wonderful to have that kind of relationship. I suppose when you live with someone for that long, there are no secrets between you."_

_"I don't know. He's probably got a girlfriend your age."_

_"Jack!" She swatted his shoulder._

_"What?" Unrepentant, he added, "Maybe she's the one with a young—"_

_"Don't you believe in happy marriages?"_

_Her voice had an edge to it, and he was worried he was pushing her away. It never ceased to surprise him that she'd chosen to date him, and every now and then he was afraid he would do something that would spoil things._

_"Of course I do," he said. "Tell you what, when we're that age, I'll take you somewhere exotic."_

_Almost immediately, he wished he could take the words back, realizing how much of his heart he'd revealed._

_"I hope sooner than that. I'd like to enjoy the holiday." She smiled, and he knew everything was okay again._

_He pulled her closer so he could kiss her and thought, yes, he wanted to be like that old couple too._

TBC,

Bonus points, and, er, cyber chocolate to anyone who guesses where Irina's quote comes from. There's a clue in the previous chapter . . .


	6. Chapter 6

_Sydney: I'd like to believe you, but I don't trust anything you say._ (2:6 Salvation)

It was inevitable, Sydney thought as she stared at her mother, that they would run into each other looking for Rambaldi artifacts. Sydney was just surprised it had taken so long.

"Put the gun down, Sydney." Irina's voice was calm, but there was a warning note in it.

"You put yours down."

Irina smiled. "I'd like to, but I don't trust you not to shoot me."

"What? You shot me Taipei!"

"And you shot me in Italy."

"You tried to kill Dad!"

Irina's smile faded, and she lowered her gun. She spoke so softly that Sydney almost missed her question. "Is that what your father told you?"

"He doesn't remember what happened, only that you were there. Since you're in the habit of shooting your family members—"

"Sydney Anne Bristow! I did not shoot your father. In spite of what you think, I do not want either of you dead."

"Were you there?" Sydney challenged.

Irina nodded. "The man who shot your father is dead."

Sydney's eyes widened. "Did you kill him?"

Irina tilted her head to one side. Sydney finally lowered her gun. They watched each other, Rambaldi's manuscript between them, waiting to see who would make the next move.

"Get out of here," Sydney said after a long silence. "I have back-up."

Irina smiled again. "Then you're smarter than your father."

"Just go."

"I can't let you take that manuscript."

"And you think I'm going to let you take it back to Sloane?"

"I'm not working with Sloane, Sydney. Give me more credit than that."

Sydney didn't know where the lighter came from, but before she could do anything to prevent it, Irina had set the manuscript alight. She tossed the lighter on the ground and turned to leave. At the window, she paused.

"How is your father?"

The question was almost hesitant, and Sydney thought she sounded a bit afraid. She discarded the idea immediately; Irina Derevko was afraid of nothing.

She also sounded as if she cared, and Sydney knew that wasn't true. But the seed of doubt was planted, and Sydney allowed herself to wonder. _Maybe_ . . .

"Sydney?"

"He's okay. Bored at home, but he's okay."

"Thank you."

And Irina was gone, leaving Sydney to puzzle over the enigma that was her mother.

* * *

_"Mommy, do you love Daddy?" Sydney gave up any pretense of eating her lunch and watched her mother carefully._

_"Of course I do." Laura smiled, the special smile she saved for Jack, and Sydney knew she was thinking of him._

_"Do you love me?" Sydney held her breath, even though she already knew the answer to this one._

_"Yes."_

_Sydney ate a forkful of mashed potatoes, relieved, though she still had more questions. "So how come Cally's mommy and daddy don't love each other? Cally says she has to move to Minnesos, umm, Minnie, umm, she says she has to go live with her mommy someplace else."_

_"Don't talk with your mouth full." Laura moved a chair closer to Sydney and sat down, brushing her hand over the back of Sydney's head. _

_Sydney swallowed. "Sorry. But how come? I thought all mommies and daddies loved each other?"_

_"Not everyone is as lucky as we are, Sydney. People start off loving each other and then . . . sometimes they stop."_

_She bit her lower lip. "Are you and Daddy going to stop loving each other?"_

_"Oh, Sydney, no." Laura hugged her, and kissed her forehead. "I could never stop loving your father."_

_"Never?"_

_"Never."_

_Sydney spoke past the lump forming in her throat. "But you said sometimes people stop."_

_"Other people, sweetheart."_

_"Hello? Anyone home?" Jack's voice rang out from the hall._

_"Daddy!" Sydney slid off the chair and ran to greet her father. "I missed you so much!"_

_"Well, I missed you too, sweetheart." He kissed her, then held out his hand for his wife._

_Sydney watched her parents' embrace, saw her mother's special smile, noted how her father gazed at her mother. When they kissed, Sydney closed her eyes, grossed out, but satisfied that her mother was right. Other people stopped loving each other, not the Bristows._


	7. Chapter 7

_Irina: Truth takes time._ (2:01 The Enemy Walks In)

Sydney studied her father over the dining room table. His invitation to dinner had come as a welcome surprise, and one she didn't completely understand. Looking at him now, she realized he looked different.

_He looks tired_, she thought, and had the sudden urge to hug him. She wasn't sure how the gesture would be taken, and remained in place. Casually, she said, "Mom says hi."

"You spoke to your mother?"

Sydney had anticipated the almost non-reaction – this was Jack Bristow, after all; what she did not expect was the wistful note in his voice that he couldn't quite hide.

"We kind of ran into each other in Prague." Sydney watched, waiting for him to ask what had happened.

Instead, he took a sip of his drink. Then he slowly looked at Sydney. "How is she?"

Sydney blinked; this was the same man who had wanted Irina dead just a few months before. She tilted her head and absently brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, not realizing how much she looked like her mother as she did so, and didn't understand why Jack looked away.

"That was the same thing she asked about you." Lowering her voice, Sydney continued, "Dad, do you really not remember anything about that night?"

He shook his head. "Your mission to Prague, was it a success?"

"Mom destroyed the manuscript. Aren't you going to ask if she said anything? Do you think she shot you?"

Jack smiled, and took another sip of his drink. Sydney hoped it wasn't alcohol; the way he was knocking it back couldn't be good, especially since he was still on antibiotics.

"Dad?"

"I know she didn't shoot me, Sydney." Another sip. "Irina doesn't miss."

Sydney didn't know what to say to that. Seeing that Jack had put the glass down, she reached across, picked it up, and took a sip. She met Jack's amused gaze. "Apple juice?"

"Doctor's orders."

Sydney smiled and returned the glass. "What does the doctor say about when you can come back to work?"

"I'm not so sure I want to."

Sydney dropped her fork in shock, then knocked her head on the corner of the table when she bent down to pick it up. Straightening, she rubbed her head and said, "But I thought – the CIA is your life. Are you really thinking of retiring?"

Jack sighed. "I don't know. Kendall wants me to head up a task force to find your mother."

Sydney nodded; Kendall had approached her and Vaughn to be part of it. Vaughn had agreed immediately; Sydney had not yet given an answer. A part of her resented being asked to hunt down her mother – despite everything, Irina was still her _mother._

"He says it's a promotion," Jack continued. "What do you think? Should I take it?"

Sydney looked at her father – really looked at him, tried to hear what he wasn't saying. His question: how is your mother? His certainty that she hadn't shot him. The way he said her name without any of the bitterness he'd displayed when Irina had been in CIA custody.

She thought she understood, and smiled. "I think you have very different reasons for wanting to find Mom."

And she knew what she was going to tell Kendall.

* * *

_Sydney bent her head and studied her shoes. They were shiny and black, and her favourite. Her mother had taken her shopping just last week, and Sydney had seen the shoes and decided then and there that she absolutely had to have them. When they got home, her father had laughed and told Laura that Sydney was turning out to be just like her. Sydney wasn't quite sure what that meant, but knew it had to be good. And she had the shiny black shoes, so she was happy._

_This morning Jack had cried when he helped her put them on. It was strange that he had been the one to help her dress – she had a pretty black dress too, Aunt Emily had brought it the night before, and she'd also been crying – Laura was always the one who helped her._

_Everyone was crying these days, and Sydney knew it was because Laura was gone._

_She looked up at the coffin – it just looked like a big brown box to Sydney, and she was waiting to hear it cough._

_Jack said they were going to put the coffin in the ground. Sydney didn't understand why, but she supposed it was one of those grown-up things that would be explained one day. Like: where do babies come from? And, why is the sky blue?_

_Why do coffins go in the ground?_

_Sydney was glad Laura wasn't in the coffin. She didn't think being in the ground was any fun; there were no books, and it was dark, and what would happen if you got lonely?_

_Jack had said Laura was dead. Said that she drowned in the river. Sydney knew that wasn't true. Laura could swim; Sydney knew that._

_She knew that._

_Except, everybody was crying and saying how sorry they were and the priest was talking about heaven – and only dead people went to heaven. Laura had told Sydney that, so she knew it was true._

_And Jack was holding Sydney's hand and squeezing so tightly that her fingers were numb._

_Jack never cried, but last night, after Emily left, he climbed into bed with Sydney and held her close the whole night, and her pillow was wet when she woke up. And then this morning when he dressed her . . ._

_Sydney blinked, her vision suddenly blurring._

_But her mother couldn't be dead. It wasn't allowed; it wasn't fair._

_She looked up at her father, feeling suddenly very small and lost, not knowing that he felt just as small and just as lost._

_"Daddy?" Her voice cracked, and when he glanced down at her, she knew._

_For the first time since Jack had sat down with her and explained what had happened, Sydney cried._


	8. Chapter 8

_Jack: Irina Derevko would eagerly destroy all of our lives._ (2: 5 The Indicator)

Jack entered the Rotunda, as he had on countless other days, and felt a weariness he was not used to. He looked around at his coworkers, and couldn't help but feel old. Some of these agents looked barely old enough to drink.

He felt a hand on his arm, and turned to find Sydney looking at him, her expression curious. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then closed it, smiled, and squeezed his arm.

"Kendall's waiting for you." There was a hint of expectation in her voice, and Jack shook his head.

"I'll be there in a minute."

Instead of going to Kendall's office, he went down to the glass cage that had housed Irina during her time here. He remembered the first time he'd walked this passage, knowing she was at the end of it, and not knowing what he should be thinking or feeling. When he'd seen her again, she looked so much like Laura that it physically hurt to be in her presence.

He stood in front of the glass cage, saw her standing in front of him, and reached out to touch the glass without realizing what he was doing. He blinked, and she was gone.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside and stood completely still in the centre of the room. He closed his eyes.

He imagined a trace of her perfume lingering in the air, but knew it was just a trick of his mind. This room held nothing of her. Glancing around, he wondered at how she had endured her time here.

He left the room and didn't look back.

Kendall was waiting in his office, and rose from behind his desk when Jack entered. He held out his hand, and dropped it awkwardly to his side when Jack didn't return the gesture. "Well, it's good to see you back. How are you?"

Jack handed Kendall the folder he'd prepared the night before.

"Is this news on Derevko?" Kendall reached the folder. His smile faded as he flipped through its contents, and he raised a confused glance to Jack.

"It's my resignation. There's a confidentiality agreement; non-disclosure with regards to my time here and at SD-6—"

"You're quitting? Don't you want to find the woman who destroyed your life?"

Jack sighed; he'd only just begun to understand. It was clear Kendall still didn't. "Irina Derevko didn't destroy my life. I did. She had a part to play, but the way I dealt with it was my own choice. I chose badly."

"She's a terrorist."

"Do what you need to do. I won't be a part of this. I'm too old to play the hero, Kendall." He turned to leave.

"What are you going to do? The CIA is your life. You're not the kind of man who plays golf on Saturdays and grows old quietly."

Jack stopped, but didn't turn around to speak. "I don't know yet. Maybe I'll start a criminal empire of my own."

He didn't stay long enough for Kendall to think of a reply.

He passed Sydney on his way out, smiled, and told her to come over for dinner.

When he arrived home and checked the mailbox, there was another postcard inside.

* * *

_Laura gently scraped the blade over Jack's jaw. "Do you believe in 'til death do us part?"_

_"Are you getting ideas? Maybe I should take over." Jack's tone was teasing, and he didn't move to take the razor from her._

_She smiled. "Answer the question, Mr. Bristow. Don't forget, I'm the one with the blade."_

_"And have I commented on how talented you are with it?"_

_She shook her head, feigning exasperation. "Jack."_

_"Okay. Yes, I do."_

_Laura bit her lip. "What if I did something that made you stop loving me?"_

_"Like if you burnt the toast?"_

_She dropped the razor into the basin and put her hands on her hips. "Be serious for a minute, please."_

_Jack cupped her face in his hands and pulled her closer for a kiss. "Laura, there is nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you."_

_"But—"_

_He kissed her again. "Let me ask a question. Would something I did make you stop loving me?"_

_Her denial was instant. She shook her head. "No, don't say that. Of course not."_

_"Well, there you go, then." Another kiss. "Forever and always, Laura."_

_"Forever and always," she echoed. "Promise me forever, Jack."_

_"Sweetheart—" At the expression on her face, he pulled her into his arms. "I promise."_

_There was a loud knock at the bathroom door. "Mommy!"_

_Laura stepped away. "You're going to have to finish shaving on your own. Sydney and I are going shopping for a Halloween costume."_

_"Mommy!"_

_"Coming, sweetheart."_

_Jack held out a towel. "You got some shaving cream on your cheek."_

_"Thanks." She smiled. "I love you."_

_He wondered why she looked sad, but didn't question her._

_Two weeks later, when she still looked sad, he was planning a weekend away just for the two of them. He had just got off the phone with Emily – who was more than happy to babysit Sydney while they were away – when there was a knock at the front door. A policeman stood there, blue and red lights flashing behind him in the rain._

_As he listened to the man explain what had happened, he crumpled the brochure for the intended weekend away in his fist and thought, _I should have made her promise forever too.

_Epilogue to follow._


	9. Chapter 9

_Try to make a move just to stay in the game_

_Try to stay awake and remember my name_

-- Keane, "Everybody's Changing"

_Irina: We need to start trusting each other right now. _(2: 8 The Passage, Part 1)

Irina Derevko knew she wasn't going to live forever. To think such a thing in the life she lived would have been foolish and very naïve. When she had driven her car into the river that cold November night, she knew she was leaving behind any chance she might have had for a happy ending.

Still, she didn't regret it, not really. She had been serving her country, as Jack had been serving his. For a moment, they had been happy, but some things just weren't meant to last. (This is what she told herself those lonely nights in a Kashmir cell, repeated over and over again until she believed it.)

She knew Jack wouldn't live forever either, and neither would Sydney, but until she'd seen them again, they hadn't been real to her. For her they'd existed so long as images in her mind, fragments of memory and half-buried emotion, and seeing them in the flesh had been wonderful and painful.

But she'd made her choices, and she would live with them.

And then she'd found herself in a warehouse with Jack's blood on her hands, and for the first time it sunk in that he really could die. She wished she'd never heard of Rambaldi, hated him for what he'd done to her family, and during those long hours of waiting while Jack was in surgery had come to a decision.

Whatever Rambaldi had to offer her and the world, it wasn't worth the price. And since his inventions would cause destruction in the wrong hands, she had to make sure she destroyed the most important ones.

She didn't explain what she was doing, or why, but went about it with the same ruthless efficiency she was known for.

It was over surprisingly quickly. And, just like that, she found herself with time on her hands. She flew halfway around the world and watched her daughter jog through the park. She watched through the window as her family sat down to dinner, together, and she felt the sharp pain of loss.

She had not retired, could not retire. This was her life and she would keep doing it until she died. But something was missing. Without Rambaldi, there was nothing to distract her from the life she had once walked away from.

She broke into Jack's house when he was not there, walked through rooms that were once familiar, and stopped, frozen in place, when she found their wedding album open on the coffee table.

And then she smiled, picked up the album, and slipped out of the house.

* * *

She stood at the water's edge, a solitary figure framed by the setting sun. Jack hesitated to approach her, second-guessing his decision to come here. Then she turned, and even in the fading light he recognized the uncertainty on his face as a mirror of his own.

He held up the postcard she'd sent: a shot of Bali at sunset, the very same view of ocean now before him. The message was simple: _I miss you_, and today's date. No signature, of course, but he'd known it was from her.

"I got your message."

She smiled. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Neither was I." He closed the remaining distance between them. "I thought about bringing a team of agents to take you in, but then I remembered I'd retired."

She nodded slowly. "And a team of agents would have dampened the mood."

He reached for her hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. When she didn't pull away, he raised her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

"Happy anniversary, Irina."

"You remembered. I'm impressed."

"It's the first time in twenty years I've actually wanted to celebrate it."

Her smile softened. She turned, and led him up the beach. "Come on, I have a surprise for you."

"As long as it doesn't involve knives or explosives."

She laughed. "Only if you're good."

He caught her wrist and pulled her back, spinning her so she faced him. Her expression was surprisingly tender, and she gently placed her palm over his gunshot wound. She tilted her head up, and he met her lips in a kiss that began softly but quickly became more intense.

"My surprise—"

"Can wait."

She gave him a look that could frighten most people, but he just smiled. "You'll like the surprise, I promise."

"I don't doubt that." He released her, and followed her up to the hotel. "It's pretty quiet here, for tourist season."

"It's my hotel. Officially, it's been closed for renovations."

"Your hotel?"

"My beach, too."

He entered the elevator after her, and said nothing as they traveled to the top floor. He was enjoying being able to look at her without worrying that she would shoot him. When they stepped out of the elevator and reached the room, he chuckled.

"The honeymoon suite?"

"I thought it was appropriate." She unlocked the door and let it swing open. Jack looked around, his jaw hanging slack. He turned to Irina who was smirking at him.

Thirty years ago, he had made love to his wife in a room exactly like this one. She had been Laura then; she was Irina now, and he was no longer the young man he had once been.

Irina shut the door, walked over to the table and picked up a bottle of champagne. "Happy anniversary, Jack."

He crossed the room, took the champagne out of her hand, and led her to the bed. It was a long time later, and the champagne had already grown warm, by the time they finally toasted their anniversary.

And a new beginning.

The End.


End file.
